Chapter 109: Taran

"Please, you have to do something!"
My heart bleeds for Milla as she paces the floor in front of us, begging us to talk Diogo into freeing her husband. Even if I could convince him, it's too late. Jorje Cruz's execution has been scheduled for 3pm. Only a few minutes away.
He's being publicly executed for the crime of treason; plotting against and moving against his Warlord. There are a multitude of other charges that have been laid against him, but the crime of treason is what he's being executed for.
"You were charged with treason, yet you still live," Milla cried turning on her heel and pointing at me.
I open my mouth to speak, to defend myself. I didn't hurt anyone when I was acting as the Desert Wren. I certainly didn't try to take over an entire government or overthrow the Warlord. There's no point in arguing though. Milla is grieving. She's very much in love with her husband, would do anything to save him and has tried over and over, begging us to help and trying to get past the guards. In her place I would be frantic to save my husband too.
I don't know what to say to her, how to make this better for her. This is an impossible situation and there's no changing the outcome. But despite that, she seems to think there's hope to the end. I can't reassure her that she should hold onto any kind of hope. I know my husband. He will execute the man he considers a usurper. He will do it coldly and dispassionately, as he would any duty that befell his office.
There's nothing I can say to Milla that she'll accept right now. My husband is about to kill hers. Emery crosses to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders, squeezing and leading her to a couch. They sit together and Emery holds Milla while she weeps and begs for the life of her husband. Dee sits down on Milla's other side and leans against her, offering support.
This is why we've gathered together, so we can surround Milla with support during one of the worst moments of her life. By banding together we're showing her that no matter what's happening to her husband, she will be loved and supported. She will not be shunned or left to fend for herself. I glance toward our guards, Grayson and Stryker. Grayson's eyes are on Milla, filled with empathy. Stryker's eyes are on me.
I shift uncomfortably, trying to escape his burning gaze by standing and heading toward the kitchen. In Emery's small, warm kitchen I prepare drinks for everyone. The least I can do in such desperate circumstances. Though I'm no good at offering support to a grieving soon-to-be widow, I can make a cup of tea.
I groan at the ache in my back as I bend, reaching into a lower cupboard for the tea kettle. I jump as a hand settles on my back, rubbing the exact spot that aches. I straighten and whirl to face Stryker.
"Let me help," he murmurs huskily, his eyes dropping to my belly.
"I can do it!" I snap, edging sideways, trying to get away from his touch.
He stares at me, his eyes never leaving me as I move rapidly away. His over-attentiveness is driving me crazy. I don't get it. A few months ago, Stryker was indifferent to me, perhaps even somewhat hostile. Now, he acts like a doting father-to-be. Only he isn't the father and I'm the farthest thing from his bride as I can get. His constant presence has become more than annoying, it's creepy. I thought about bringing my concerns up with Diogo. He's definitely noticed Stryker's odd vigilance around me but believes it to be harmless. From the moment Diogo woke up from his coma he's had his plate full. I can't bear to add one more thing. Besides, if he finds out Stryker is bothering me he'll overreact and who knows what he'll do.
"You need to relax, Taran," Stryker says calmly, holding his hands up. "You're perfectly safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you."
Of that, I have no doubt. As my constant shadow, a person would have an immensely difficult time getting through Stryker to me.
"Don't tell me to relax," I say sharply, lifting the kettle to fill it with water. He reaches past me, takes the kettle from my hands, shuffles me aside and fills it, as though I'm incapable of handling the few pounds it'll weigh once it's full.
I grit my teeth and close my eyes, wanting to scream at him. I remind myself of all the reasons I should remain calm. Stryker thinks he's helping, he's just being protective. He saved my life once already. I should trust him. I don't want to upset Milla or Diogo. I don't want to be the reason Diogo loses another of his men. And I know how he'll react if I tell him Stryker is upsetting me. The older man will be lucky if he's only banished from the city. Diogo has become more protective than ever, his entire focus on my safety when he's not trying to bring his city back under his rule.
When Stryker sets the kettle on the stove and lights the gas, I murmur my thanks and keep my eyes lowered so he doesn't see the blaze of fear and anger. I tell myself I'm being hormonal again, that he wants nothing more than to help. I know it's bullshit though. My instincts have never been wrong, and they're telling me that something has driven Stryker off a psychological ledge. Something that has landed his focus entirely on me.
"Can you please go see if any of the women want a snack?"
We both know the answer to this. Who would want a snack at a time like this? The city is starving and one of its most prominent soldiers is about to lose his life. Still, Stryker nods and goes to do my bidding. I sigh my relief, glad that I'm finally getting a few seconds to myself. Not only has Stryker become an annoying constant in my life, but I'm now sharing a tiny house with several people. Not to mention the sheer number of rebels and refugees that come and go from the premises.
Diogo asked me if I wanted to move back into Sector One, find a new apartment building and furnish it to make it our own. The offer is tempting, who wouldn't want an entire apartment building to themselves? But I refused. I want to be near Emery when the baby comes. I want to be in the only place I've been able to call home since losing my grandparents. The slums hold a special place in my heart, and now that the rebellion has been quashed, I can feel safe in Sector Thirteen once more.
"No snacks," Stryker says somewhat dryly, as he settles himself against the doorframe to watch me.
I ignore him and go through the motions of making the tea, pouring the hot, boiling water over the dry tea leaves, stirring them, leaving them to steep. I watch the hot water turn a clear dark red in the pot. The smell of chamomile and rosehips touches my nose, giving me a kick of nostalgia. This is the tea Emery serves me when I'm feeling down.
I set the pot of tea, some cups with a jar of raw sugar and a small pitcher of cream on the tray. Diogo insists that we take advantage of some of the food sources he's cultivated, even though we inhabit a home in the poorest sector of the city. It's hard to argue with him when fresh cream makes its way to our doorstep. I remind myself that he's the Warlord, it's okay to take advantage of some of the perks as long as we're still working toward the greater good of the entire city.
No one touches the tea, not even me, as we watch the clock, tracking time until 3pm arrives. Milla's sobs grow louder, filling the room. A tear tracks down Dee's cheek as she leans her head against Milla's, holding the other woman tight. Emery continues to speak, her calm, quiet voice, a reassuring constant in a chaotic, violent world. I sit clutching a cup of cold tea, my own eyes wide and dry. I have no more tears. Maybe I've spent them all. Maybe I don't know how to cry in a moment like this. Milla's husband betrayed mine. I have sympathy for her, but not the man that would've killed Diogo while he was at his weakest if we hadn't done a good job of hiding his whereabouts while he recovered.
Finally, after endless minutes pass, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness, Emery says, "It's over."